


A Professional Indignity

by until_the_earth_is_free



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Bad Parenting, Breaking and Entering, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Homophobia, Illegal Activities, Journalism, M/M, Meet-Cute, not crack but it's right on that border
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/until_the_earth_is_free/pseuds/until_the_earth_is_free
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you're looking for something expensive to steal, he has a lovely crystal ashtray that's worth at least two grand."</p><p>***</p><p>[a.k.a.  the fic where both Erik and Charles have broken into the same apartment for different reasons]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking and Entering

**Author's Note:**

> *hasn't updated any of my current fics in months*  
> *posts a new multi-chaptered fic*

 

 

 

 

 

 

Erik Lehnsherr, former editor of NYU's Washington Square News, had prided himself on being the only person in his graduating class to be leaving university with an actual job offer at an actual, established newspaper.  It felt quite demeaning, therefore, to walk into his boss's office on his very first day to hear:

"so, you're the metal man, right?"

Erik's ears pinked.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"The kid we hired who can manipulate metal," Sebastian Shaw, editor, elaborated.  "We have a job for you."

"I should hope so," Erik replied, stiffly.

Shaw laughed.

"Heard of Kurt Marko, kid?"

"Yes," Erik replied, frowning.  He had been working towards a career in journalism since he was a high school freshman with acne and a decent work ethic.  Of course he had heard of the ex-Wall Street Republican who was planning on running for mayor next year.

"We need you to break into his apartment."

Erik raised his eyebrows.

"And do what?"

Shaw smiled.

"There have been rumours of some shady tax evasion through an off-shore account in the Bahamas," Shaw replied.  "But we haven't been able to confirm any illegal activity yet."

Erik nodded.

"Alright," he said, because professional dignity had gone out the window with the economy in 2008. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kurt Marko had an apartment on the first floor of a brownstone on the Upper West Side.  Unfortunately, as was the nature in such a neighbourhood, there was a doorman watching the lobby, making sure that criminals such as Erik Lehnsherr did not enter the building.

This was how Erik, twenty-two years old, having graduated from NYU with honours, spent a Monday afternoon attempting to manoeuvre his lanky body through an unlocked bedroom window.  His career advisor hadn't been lying when she'd told Erik that the business world was cruel.

With a graceless thump, Erik collapsed on the carpeted floor of what looked like Marko's bedroom.  It was pretty non-descript: dark sheets and maroon wallpaper.  Marko didn't seem to have any electronics or documents on or inside his bedside table, as far as Erik's quick rummaging could tell.  It was more likely that he kept such things in a safe.

Erik reached out into the apartment with his metal senses and discovered the presence of large, electronically locked metal box about twenty steps from the bedroom.  He moved quickly to the bedroom door, which was open, and walked out into the main living area of the apartment.  The safe was in what appeared to be Marko's study, next to some computer hardware under the desk.

Erik put a gloved hand on the safe and closed his eyes to try and mentally map the minute electronic mechanism that had locked it.

"If you're looking for something expensive to steal, he has a lovely crystal ashtray that's worth at least two grand."

Erik jumped, smacking his head painfully against the underside of the desk.

"Oh dear," he heard the voice from behind chuckle.  "Are you alright?"

With a groan, Erik twisted around to see a young brunet with a wide grin, holding what looked like a $500 bottle of Glenfiddich scotch.

Erik hadn't even finished his first day of work and he was going to get arrested.

Perhaps his fear was showing on his face, because the man laughed and said:

"Don't worry: I'm not supposed to be here either.  I won't tell if you won't tell," before attempting unsuccessfully to twist open the scotch.

"Oh," Erik said.  "Thanks."

"Do you want some scotch?" the man asked, holding out the yet-unopened bottle.  "I can't figure out how to open the blasted thing."

"Um," Erik replied.  "Sure."

He reached up and took the bottle from the man, and examined the label with an impressed eyebrow-raise.

"I know right," the man said.  "Totally worth the breaking and entering."

Erik snorted, gripped the bottle in his hands, and twisted, with a satisfying cracking sound.

"Ah!" the man exclaimed.  "Thank you so much.  Would you like some?"

Erik shook his head.

"Well, thank you anyway.  Have a good day, will you?"

And, just like that, the man waltzed out of the study, scotch in hand.

Erik reached out with his metallokinesis and felt the front door's lock slide open and shut, and the watch that the man had been wearing fading into the distance.

What the hell just happened?

Trying to force his attention back onto the actual purpose of his being in Kurt Marko's flat, Erik spent the next few minutes delicately moving the wires in the safe to their unlocked position, careful not to break anything or leave a suspiciously manipulated piece of metal that could be traced back to him.  Finally, he heard that tell-tale click, and he opened the safe door to see...

Nothing.

Oh no wait, there was one piece of paper on the floor of the safe.

Erik reached into the safe and picked up the sole item that Marko had locked in the box in his office: a signed photograph of George W. Bush with a note thanking Marko for donating to his presidential campaign.  Erik stared at the photograph for a moment, before shoving it roughly back in the safe and slamming the door shut.

Goddamn Republicans!

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Two hours later, Erik Lehnsherr walked back into the office with his metaphorical tail between his legs.  He was not looking forward to having to tell his new boss that he had failed to find any incriminating evidence against Marko, and they probably didn't have a story.

It was just when Erik had raised his hand to knock against Shaw's office door that a man literally appeared right next to him and said, "wait!"

Erik flinched.  What was it with people and sneaking up on him today?

He turned around to look at the man, who seemed to have bright red skin, in addition to his frankly disquieting teleportation ability.

"What is it?" Erik asked gruffly.

"Charles Xavier is sitting in the break room," the man said.  "He wants to see you."

"Wait.  Charles Xavier, Kurt Marko's stepson?" Erik replied, his heart pounding.

"The very same," said the man.  "I wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

Erik nodded, before walking across to the break room, wondering if he could ask the teleporting man to break him out of jail if it came down to it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Erik entered the break room, expecting a bratty kid with two lawyers and a self-important scheme of blackmail.  He couldn't tell if he was disappointed or relieved by the reality.

The man from Marko's apartment was sitting on one of the plastic chairs by the vending machines and smiling at Erik with the most terrifying amusement.

"Uh," Erik said, intelligently.

"Hi," said the man, who was apparently Charles Xavier. 

"Hi," Erik said back.  "How did you find me?"

Charles Xavier looked like he was about to laugh.

"Why don't you take a seat, Erik?" Charles Xavier said, pulling out a chair.  "And please just call me Charles."

Erik took a seat, warily.

"Are you-"

"A telepath, yes," Charles said.  "I won't try to read your mind without your permission.  I can't make any promises about surface thoughts though."

Erik coughed.

"I was actually going to ask if you were going to call the police," he said.  "But I suppose that's comforting too."

Charles laughed at that.

"Oh please," he said, good-naturedly.  "If anyone's getting arrested today, it ought to be Marko."

"You know something?" Erik asked, his posture suddenly improving.

Charles tapped the side of his freckled nose.

"Let's say, I know how one can know something," he said, cryptically.

"Because you're a telepath?" Erik asked, frowning.

"Because I know where exactly Marko keeps his papers, and it's not in his apartment."

Erik narrowed his eyes.

"Why should I believe you?" he asked.   "And you still haven't told me how you found me.  Or why, for that matter."

Charles nodded calmly.

"I understand," he replied, his voice hard with sincerity.  "I learnt your name from gleaning it from the surface of your mind, and I thought I'd recognised it from somewhere.  I looked you up and found your work on the Washington Square News, which I used to read as an undergraduate.  It wasn't too hard to find out where you'd started work and to figure out why you were in his apartment in the first place.  As for why _I'd_ want to get involved, I absolutely detest Marko and would dearly love for him to go to jail before his campaign starts picking up steam."

"Wait," Erik said.  "If you've already finished undergraduate school, how old are you?"

Charles grinned.

"Twenty-one today, actually.  I left high school at sixteen."

"Happy birthday," Erik said awkwardly.  "So, is that why you broke into his apartment for a bottle of scotch?"

"Yes," Charles replied, his voice becoming a bit distant.  "Before my father died, he promised me that he'd open a twenty-one year-old bottle of scotch on my twenty-first birthday with me.  A bit of a funny promise to make to a six year-old, wouldn't you agree?"

"I guess," Erik said, not really sure what to say.

Then,

"I'm glad you took his scotch."

"Me too," Charles said.  "I didn't really like it though.  I much prefer the taste of cheap beer.  Is that bad?"

Erik shrugged.

"Maybe you'll grow into it," he said, with the condescending faux-wisdom of someone older than twenty-two.

"Maybe," Charles said, unconvinced.  "So, anyway, will you help me?"

"Help you with what?" Erik asked.

"Marko is holding a black-tie dinner party at our estate in Westchester tonight.  I shall need your help to break into his reinforced steel office cabinet to find the accounts."

Erik raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"I don't really think this is the kind of party I can just crash," he pointed out.

"I agree," Charles said, with a serious nod.  "Which is why you're coming as my evening arm-candy."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Charles And Erik Wear Tuxedos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles pretend to date part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your lovely comments on last chapter!
> 
> WARNINGS FOR: homophobic language, homophobic opinion

 

 

 

 

Despite trying desperately not to be a classist asshole, Charles found himself that evening anxiously looking back at his locked car every few seconds while he waited for Erik to answer the doorbell.  He knew that New York City wasn't the cheapest place for recent graduates, but he could count four broken windows from Erik's doorstep.

Charles had had his share of roughing it in student housing, but this neighbourhood really was something else and he was wearing a Loro Piana tuxedo.

Fortunately, the door opened within a minute of Charles ringing the bell, to reveal perhaps the most exquisite sight Charles had ever seen. 

Erik in a tuxedo was truly the pinnacle of human existence.  Forget the human brain, _this_ was the reason for millions of years of evolution, and it was worth it.  The sharp angles of the shoulders, the gentle, form-fitting curves from chest to waist, those slender legs...  Charles had not met many experiences that would shake his firm agnosticism, but Erik's defined jaw line echoed in the lines of his lapels was getting close to proof of God.

"Shall we go?" Erik asked, gruffly, and Charles almost jumped out of his reverie, blushing at his distractedness.

"Yes, certainly," he said, trying to ignore the twitch of amusement he felt from Erik's mind, and turning towards his thankfully still-present Bentley.  "Would you like to drive?"

"How did you know?" Erik asked, drily, using his powers to levitate the car-keys out of Charles' pocket and into his hand.

"Thank you again for coming with me to this," Charles said, once they had both sat down in the car, Erik running his hands over the dashboard in reticent excitement.

"Well, this could really make my career on my very first day," Erik replied, turning on the engine.

Charles felt a wave of glee radiate from Erik when the car so smoothly switched gears into drive.

"Yes," Charles agreed, feeling rather stupidly like he had crossed a boundary.  They were attending this party as co-workers, conspirators even, but purely professional.  Just two guys being guys, getting the dirty on affluent politicians.  "Do you mind if I have a drink?"

Erik glanced over at Charles.

"Is there not going to be alcohol there?" he asked, something close to concern in his voice.

Charles laughed.

"It's at the Xavier estate. Of course there'll be alcohol," he reassured.  "I'm just interested in getting a head-start on the proceedings.  Crowds give me a headache."

Erik pursed his lips, but gave a stiff nod.  Charles opened the glove compartment to find a room-temperature bottle of beer that he kept in his car for emergencies, and took a swig.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Charles and Erik arrived at the Xavier Estate just after eight, an hour after the invite time, which seemed a respectable and respectful time to show up to a black-tie gathering.  Charles watched Erik nervously as they exited the car and walked up the long gravel driveway to the entrance of his obnoxiously large childhood house.  However, Erik did not seem particularly impressed or disgusted by the Xaviers' ostentatious display of wealth, which was a bit of a relief, as well as a harsh reminder that Erik was only there for Marko's files.

The men remained silent until they reached the front door, which was open and manned by a young servant Charles remembered from his adolescent days.

"Roger!" he greeted with a broad smile.  "I see you've been promoted.  Congratulations, my friend."

"Thank you, Master Xavier," Roger replied, with a stiff but present smile.  "Would you or your friend like me to keep anything in the cloakroom for you?"

Charles glanced at Erik, who very subtly shook his head.

"We're alright," he told Roger.  "Thank you."

And he took Erik by the arm and marched him through the front hall into the reception room, where the drinks were being served.

"Remind me again," Erik whispered quietly as he deftly picked up two champagne flutes from a server standing at the door.  "Am I apparently here as your friend, or as your arm-candy?"

"Can't you be both?" Charles replied coyly, taking one of the champagne flutes from Erik.

Erik blinked.

"I just meant, since Roger seemed to be under the impression that we were just friends..." he trailed off.

Charles smirked.

"Oh!" he said.  "Don't mind him.  He's just a bit sensitive ever since I got caught fucking his cousin in a water closet two years ago."

Erik delicately spat a mouthful of champagne back into his glass.

"But in all seriousness," Charles continued.  "There is no conceivable universe in which I voluntarily brought someone within a five mile radius of my family unless I was too head-over-heels to see sense.  My mother will certainly assume that we have been dating for at least six months."

"Except this one," Erik said, biting his bottom lip.

"Sorry?"

"There is no conceivable universe, except this one," Erik elaborated with a wry smile.

"Yes, well," Charles said, giving an aristocratic sniff.  "You rather wandered into my mess of a family on your own volition, didn't you?"

 "Charles?" a familiar female voice called from behind him.

"Mother," Charles greeted, spinning around and twisting his mouth into a passable smile.

"I didn't know you were coming," Sharon Xavier continued, her right hand resting in the crook of her left elbow like a debutante.  "I assumed, since you have been so terribly busy, that you threw away my invitation without opening it.  I mean, what other reason could you have for not even showing up to Christmas dinner?"

Charles felt Erik's hand join his and gently squeeze.  It was slightly comforting.

"I couldn't miss the opportunity to introduce my boyfriend to my mother," Charles said with a feeble attempt at a grin.  "Mother, this is Erik."

Erik nodded his head politely and freed his hand from Charles' so he could offer to shake Sharon's.  Charles tried not to miss its warmth.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Erik said, with the poise and grace of a West End actor.

"Yes," Sharon said, blandly, before looking back at Charles.  "So, how long have you been fooling around with this one for?"

Charles felt his face turn scarlet.

"We've been dating for just over six months," he stammered.

 _I'm so sorry,_ he sent to Erik, who, to his credit, didn't even flinch.  In fact, Erik seemed to be holding up extraordinarily well: not even Sharon's rudeness had caused a blush to permeate those stony cheeks.

"Oh, that's what you're calling it now?  Dating?"

"Mother, please-"

"Sometimes, I think you bring home these queers just to shock me.  It's frankly immature.  What happened to Gabrielle?  She was always so nice, and her father is the CEO of that electrical company..."

Charles took in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.  When he had calmed down, he downed his champagne flute in two large gulps, while his mother was somehow still gushing about Gabrielle, a girl Charles had dated for possibly two months.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, rather too exhausted to be polite at this point.  "But I promised Erik I would show him the portrait of Erasmus in the upstairs study."

He then took Erik's hand and attempted to move them both upstairs and far, far away from Sharon Xavier.  Erik, however, stood his ground, still staring at Sharon with a rather frightening grin.

"It was lovely to meet you," Erik said, still managing to maintain the toothy grin while he spoke.  "I'm sorry that Charles didn't come home for Christmas.  You see, I gave him a pair of edible underwear as a Hanukah present this year, and, like you said, we were _very busy_."  

And with that, he yanked his hand out of Charles', only to place it possessively around Charles' waist, and walked briskly out of the room back into the front hall.

 _Holy shit_.

"I'm sorry," Erik said, in a tone that implied he was anything but, the moment they were out in the empty front hall.  "Was it a bit too much?"

_Holy shit.  I think you are my new favourite person._

Erik's ears pinked.

_And I'm sorry she said all those awful things.  I should have warned you before you came here with me._

"Don't be stupid," Erik mumbled.  "It wasn't your fault.  _She_ isn't your fault."

Charles felt his face relax into a small smile.

_Thank you._

"Uh, Charles?"

_Yeah?_

"Do you always switch into telepathic mode when you're stressed out?"

Charles blinked.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed.  "I didn't realise I was doing it again."

"Don't apologise," Erik replied.  "And if you need to keep doing it, you're more than free to do so."

Charles flushed.

"I think I should be fine now," he said, awkwardly.  "But thank you."

Erik shrugged, but he was still smiling.

"Ready to invade your step-father's privacy without a warrant?" he asked with an eyebrow-raise, because apparently Erik Lehnsherr was a huge dork.

"Aye, aye," Charles replied, because Charles Xavier was definitely a huge dork and equally definitely falling hard for Erik Lehnsherr.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the story will continue because there is one constant in my life and that constant is that I Will Never Correctly Estimate How Many Chapters I Will Require To Finish A Fic


	3. Destruction of Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik pretend to date part 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for brief, non-serious fantasy of suicide due to extreme embarrassment

 

 

 

 

 

Erik followed Charles up the grand staircase into an even grander room lined with bookshelves and at least four antique globes.

"Nice digs," he commented, looking around at the mahogany panelling and frankly enormous windows.

Charles twitched, embarrassed, and then pointed to a large oil painting of a miserable man in a fur coat that was hanging above the fireplace.

"That's Erasmus," Charles said.

"Cool," Erik said.  Then, "so when do you need me to blast open a drawer?"

"Well," said Charles, before he closed his eyes and put one hand to his temple.

Erik tried not to tap his foot while he waited.

"Oh bugger," Charles said, opening his eyes again and looking at Erik with a grimace.  "Marko's got his telepath watching the door to the office where he keeps his accounts."

Erik's eyes widened.

"Does the telepath know what we're planning?" he asks quietly, while carefully building an image of a iron-wrought gate in the forefront of his mind.

"Oh no," Charles said.  "I've managed to block her from reading us."

Erik tried not to look as impressed as he felt.

"Can't you just... stop her from seeing us at all as we get past?" Erik asked.

"I could try," Charles said.  "It would require a great deal of concentration on both our parts, but I think that's our best bet."

"Alright," Erik said, with uncharacteristic team spirit.  "Tell me what you need me to do."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Five minutes later, Erik and Charles left the study with only socks on their feet and holding hands.  According to Charles, it was easier to only have to focus on manipulating someone's vision without worrying about their hearing as well, which was why they decided to discard their dress shoes.  Erik noticed that Charles wore lifts in his shoes, but he decided not to comment.  Apparently, it was also easier to protect someone from telepathy if they kept physical contact, which was why they were holding hands.  At least, that's what Charles said, and Erik wasn't going to argue with him.

Together, they walked along the corridor in silence, until they turned a corner and saw the telepath, who was leaning elegantly against the door of the office.  There was no way of opening that door until she moved position.

 _Bugger_ , thought Charles.

 _Emma?!_ thought Erik.

The telepath's head whipped around.

"Erik?" she asked, and, yep, it was definitely Emma Frost, except four years older than he remembered.

"Emma," Erik replied, with a polite nod.

"You know each other?!" Charles exclaimed.

Erik flushed.

"Um, yeah, we actually dated for two years in high school," he said, kind of sheepishly.

"Two years?" Emma repeated, with a familiar high laugh.  "Try one year and five months."

Erik felt his face grow even warmer.

"Yeah," he said, eloquently.  "Anyway, Emma, you're looking well."

"You too, Erik," Emma said, with a perfect smile.  "But why aren't either of you wearing shoes?"

Erik glanced down at his black socks, one of which had a hole where his big toe was sticking out.

"Uh," he said.

"We just had sex," Charles said, suddenly.

 _WHAT THE FUCK,_ Erik sent to Charles.

_I'm sorry, I-_

_You know I can hear your telepathic conversations, right?_ Emma interrupted, her smile growing wider.

Erik hadn't even thought it was possible for one's face to be as hot as his was right now.

"Anyway," he said, suddenly aware that he and Charles were _still holding hands_.

"I'm glad that you found each other," Emma said.  "I should have known you were gay, anyway.  You were a terrible lay."

Erik was two seconds away from taking the buckle from his belt and driving it into his own skull.

"I was seventeen!" he retorted, indignantly.  "And there is such a thing as bisexuality, you know?"

Emma shrugged, still smiling.

Charles made a sound like he was trying not to choke.

Erik closed his eyes and prayed that a huge chunk of metal would suddenly appear from the ceiling and crush him so he would be spared this indignity.

Wait...

_Charles?_

_Yes, Erik?_

_Are all the windows on this floor the same size?_

_Yes._

Erik looked up at Emma, who looked curious and had obviously been eavesdropping on their mental conversation, and smiled.

"It was lovely seeing you again, Emma," he said, courteously.  "But Charles and I have to go now."

Emma narrowed her eyes.

"Alright," she said.  "Go have your weird defenestration sex on another floor though.  I've had more than enough Erik Lehnsherr sexual experiences for one lifetime."

"I was seventeen," Erik growled, before taking the high road and Charles' hand, and walking hastily back around the corner.

"Charles," he said, as they descended the marble staircase into the front hall.  "How much do you value your childhood home?"

"I care about one of the trees in the back gardens and that's pretty much it."

"Good," Erik said with a grin, before reaching into his pocket and shoving the Bentley's keys into Charles' hand.  "Now, would you please be a dear and bring the car around?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Charles had ran to the car and driven it up the driveway, Erik was still standing by the front door, looking particularly zen.  He had taken off his tuxedo jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and was standing with his eyes closed and his arms slightly raised.  Charles pulled the car into park and rolled down the window.

"Hey, Erik?"

Erik opened his eyes and looked at Charles with a serene expression.

"Could you please open the sunroof of the car?"

Charles obliged and tried not to think about how much this entire situation turned him on.

Luckily, a distraction arrived in the form of a great smashing of glass, followed by a great steel cabinet flying out of one of the first floor windows.  The cabinet descended towards the car, slowly, and Charles was dimly aware of the fact that he could get crushed any second.  There was a loud crack, and Charles flinched, only to be answered with a cascade of paper hitting him in the face.

"Ouch!"

"What the hell was that racket?" shouted a voice from inside.

The documents seemed have stopped flowing, and Erik gave the steel cabinet a few sharp shakes before tossing it aside onto the manicured lawn.

"Get in the car, Erik!" Charles yelled, as he sensed a large group of people make their way from the reception room to the driveway.

Erik threw out an arm to open the passenger door and took the car at a run, practically throwing himself inside.

"Floor it, Charles!"

Charles floored it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Charles drove in silence for the first few minutes, as Erik caught his breath from the exertion of hovering a huge office cabinet made of reinforced steel.

Then,

"I really hope these documents aren't more fucking autographed pictures of George fucking Bush," Erik muttered quietly.  Charles probably would have crashed the car from laughing unless Erik hadn't used his powers to keep the wheel steady.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was around eleven by the time Erik and Charles had arrived at the newspaper headquarters.

"Are you sure Shaw will still be here?" Charles asked, as he peered into the dark, empty lobby.

"Yes," Erik said.  "I am sure."

They took the lift up, both clutching an armful of bank statements and print-outs of various emails between Marko and clients.  Erik hadn't had the time to look through all of it, but it was definitely very promising.

When the lift door opened, Erik and Charles walked straight through the communal area into Shaw's office, where Shaw and another reporter Erik didn't recognise were apparently having a meeting.

"Metal man," Shaw greeted.  "What do you have for me?"

Erik didn't respond and, instead, dumped his pile of documents on Shaw's desk.  Charles followed suit.

Shaw flicked through the pile of papers with a slow grin.

"Good work," he said.  "I'll have Janos write up an article tonight."

Erik furrowed his brow.

"Shouldn't I be writing the article?" he asked.  "Since I was the one who collected the information."

Shaw barked a laugh.

"This is still your first day!" he said, convivially.  "I don't just let any graduate upstart write my breakthrough articles.  I'll have you doing some filler crime articles later this week. And put on some goddamn shoes while you're at it."

Erik swallowed, but otherwise didn't reply.  In fact, he didn't speak until he and Charles had left the building altogether.  He glanced at his watch.

"You know, Charles," he said.  "It's still technically your twenty-first birthday.  Do you want to go drink some cheap beer?"

Charles smiled.

"I'd like that."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"You know, Erik," Charles said, later that night.  "Either Emma was wrong, or you've really improved your technique in the last five years because wow-"

"Charles," Erik interrupted.  "Please don't talk about my high school girlfriend when we're in bed together."

And then he pulled Charles closer and neither of them did much talking for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT'S ALL, FOLKS  
> please validate me with your kudos and comments x

**Author's Note:**

> transcharlesxavier.tumblr.com


End file.
